“I’m doing okay, Sunday, thank you for asking.” He answers and shakes her delicate hand in his much larger one. The words he says are for her, but he delivers them looking straight at me, and I can’t stand here anymore. My legs feel like wet spaghetti, and my heart is trying to beat its way right out of my ribcage. The pukey feeling that’s been building over the past few minutes intensifies.
Breathe.
It’ll pass.
I taste the bile in my throat.
Or not.
Bowing my head, hand over my mouth, I turn and run for the staff restroom off the kitchen. The bells over the front door of the diner mock my distress as they cheerily announce the arrival of another customer. Once inside the small restroom, I flip the lock on the door and throw up the awful coffee from this morning. When the retching stops, I turn and flip the lid closed on the single toilet and sit heavily on it, my elbows digging into my knees. With my head down, my fingernails scrape my scalp and grip handfuls of hair, attempting to ride out my anxiety and the harsh remnants of nausea.
It’s just a panic attack. Breathe. You’re fine.
It’s only Payne and Mr. Halliday. There’s no need to be scared—Callum’s dead, Bingham’s not here.
And so what if Poe couldn’t be bothered to come? You ran. Can you blame him?
Even though breathing still feels like trying to force air into a pair of lungs that are two sizes too small, I manage to talk myself down after a few more minutes. My heart is still alternating between pounding and fluttering, but my breathing is at least manageable, and finally, the urge to vomit subsides. Wiping the sheen of sweat from my forehead, I straighten my sweatshirt and fix my messy hair. Turning on the tap, the water is cold and refreshing as I scoop up a couple of handfuls to rinse my mouth and ease my dry throat. Taking a last look in the mirror, I unlock and open the restroom door.
“Hey, Star.” The nickname slips from his lips like the softest kiss. He leans against the opposite side of the narrow hallway—black snapback on backward, slim grey joggers and black hoodie slightly rumpled, and one Converse-encased foot braced against the wall.
Poe.
Everything in me lets go at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice. With a gut-wrenching sob ripped from the deepest parts of my bruised soul, I throw myself into his waiting arms, and wrapped in the warm scent of sandalwood and sunshine I cry enough tears to drown us both.
Chapter Three
When we land at the airport in Syracuse, New York, I realize I’m nervous.
Me.
I don’t get nervous, especially over anything to do with girls. My best friends and I are used to having our pick, and we only have one rule—the ride is always over in the morning. Most of the time, it’s not a problem and we’ve never had a shortage of willing participants. The problems happen when one of those participants forgets the rule and catches feelings, getting it in their head that a quick fuck is somehow the prelude to a marriage proposal.
There was one girl in particular who became unhealthily obsessed with Payne when we were about sixteen. She skulked outside every one of his classes and followed him around at parties. For a solid month, every girl he hung out with got mysteriously jumped and had the shit beat out of her—pretty soon, no girl in her right mind would go near him. There were notes passed to him in class and weird gifts left at the gates of his family’s estate. She finally ended up shoving a pair of her dirty panties through the vents in his locker and sent him a video of herself masturbating to his yearbook photo.
After watching the crazy happen from the sidelines, Sunday and the girls took matters into their own hands when the panties showed up. They decided to go above the girl’s head. They delivered the used underwear to her mortified and seriously pissed-off parents after showing them their daughter’s attempt at amateur porn. They ended up yanking her out of school for a few weeks, and when she finally did come back, she avoided all of us like the plague.
So now here I am, the originator of our only rule, being the one breaking it. I’m the one who went and caught feelings, and by the time we pull up to the hole in the wall diner, I’ve managed to talk myself into feeling like a fucking idiot.
She ran, you moron. Not just from the shitshow that night, but from you. What in the hell makes you think she’s going to want anything to do with you now?
“You coming, bro?” Payne’s question drags me out of my head, and I realize both he and my father are watching me with equal parts concern and amusement.
“Yeah, just give me a few minutes. You guys go in.”
My dad reaches over and gives my shoulder a firm understanding pat before the two of them leave me in the rented SUV and head into The Juneberry. I yank the hat off my head and rake my fingers roughly through my thick hair. Sliding lower in the leather seat, I bounce the back of my skull off the headrest a few times in annoyance.
This whole thing is a mess. Fucking Callum and my mother and their twisted, psychotic bullshit. I will happily admit I had Mrs. Torsten pegged utterly wrong, but the rest of that family? I’ve always hated Callum and Hali. And my mother has always been her own particular brand of nasty-meets-nuts. But how do you get to the point of thinking somebody deserves violence, deserves to be destroyed, not for anything they did, but because you think you’re entitled to punish them just because you can?
Now Stella has been a casualty of their fucked-up games, not once, not twice, but three times.
First, she lived in hiding with her mom for fifteen years.
Second, she became the victim of an attack orchestrated by my mother, Hali, and Bingham the Tool.
And finally, finding out the truth of what drove her mom away from Folkestone ended up driving her away, too.
Grinding my teeth in frustration, I sit forward and jam my hat on backward, focusing on my knees while I clench and unclench my hands.
Dude, you’re Poe fucking Halliday—pull your balls out of the glove compartment and stop being such a pussy. Get out of the damn car, go inside, and tell your girl it’s time to get her ass home. Because who are you kidding? You know you want her.
Slamming the door of the SUV, I stride across the sagging sidewalk that’s seen better days and push into the diner, looking up as the small bells above the entrance announce my arrival. Four heads turn in my direction. One I don’t recognize, two that belong to the people I showed up with, and there’s barely time to register the fourth as the white-blonde blur flies across the room and attacks me with a hug.
“Jesus, Poe. What took you so long?” Sunday asks breathlessly, a scowl on her beautiful face.
Just as I’m about to answer her, she presses her index finger firmly against my lips, holding it there while she speaks and effectively shushes me.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “Stella’s in the back. I think she ran for the restroom; it looked like she was going to throw up when she saw Payne and your dad. Or maybe it was because she didn’t see you. Go through that swinging door to the kitchen and turn right. It’ll be the first room on the left.” Shifting my gaze toward the door, I see the woman I don’t recognize leaning against the back counter. Arms crossed over her chest, she aims a scarily decent stink eye my way.
Sunday follows my line of sight and finally pulls her finger away from my lips, only to pat my cheek with a noticeable amount of force, just shy of making it a flutter of slaps. “Don’t worry about Sally. I’ll handle her,” she promises.
Warily I make my way towards the door to the kitchen, feeling the older woman’s stare on me the whole way and waiting for her to pounce. She may be small, but she looks like she could gouge out an eye or two without a second thought if it meant protecting somebody she cared about.
Following Sunday’s directions, I find the restroom easily enough. Knowing she needs to calm herself down, and also because I’m half terrified she’s going to barrel out of there and throat punch me for daring to show up, I decide to wait for her to come out on her own. Taking up a position dire
ctly across from the closed door, my heart thuds nervously as I attempt to look casual, leaning back against the wall.
The muttering and deep breathing suddenly stop, and I hear the water in the sink turn on briefly. Bracing myself, I watch the door swing open, and it feels as if all the air is sucked out of the room.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
Standing in front of me in tight, faded, ripped blue jeans and a black sweatshirt riding low on one shoulder, her gorgeous violet eyes widen in shock when they lock on my face.
“Hey, Star.”
With those two small words that weigh more than almost any others I’ve ever said, she’s across the hall and in my arms, crying an ocean of tears against my chest.
Holding her tightly, I can’t think of a single place I’d rather be.
Chapter Four
As much as a big part of me would like to stay cuddled here indefinitely, I push myself away from Poe’s firm chest and the comforting steady beat of his heart. The large patch of tear-damp fabric over his left pec is a little embarrassing, and I give him an apologetic, watery smile.
“Sorry about—,” I gesture toward his hoodie and sniffle unattractively. Ducking back into the restroom, I yank a tissue from the box Sally keeps on a shelf by the door. “And about this.” Hiccupping, I point a finger at myself briefly before blowing my nose and grabbing another tissue to scrub the inky trails of mascara from my face.
“No need to be sorry about any of that.” He pushes off the wall and moves to the restroom's doorway, reaching to grip the top of the doorframe with both hands and leaning forward slightly.
“That sounded like you think there’s something I need to be sorry about, though.” I stare at the top of his hat as he keeps his head lowered, apparently finding the intricate pattern in the beat-up linoleum fascinating. The silence between us stretches like a wad of sticky bubble gum while we both stand silent, locked in this odd moment of insecurity and uncertainty.
I sniffle again, and he raises his head to look me full in the face, still not moving from his position holding up the doorframe. My breath hitches sharply, partially in surprise, and the rest out of guilt when I see the hurt clouding his eyes because I know in my heart I’m the cause of it.
“You didn’t have to leave that way, you know. I would have left with you, taken you anywhere you wanted to go.” His voice is low, but I hear the accusation and the anger hiding beneath the words loud and clear.
“Yes, I did.” Taking a few steps back, I lean against the pockmarked white porcelain pedestal sink and fold my arms across my chest. Chewing the side of my lower lip, I fight a quick internal battle and abruptly realize I’m so fucking tired of keeping everything bottled up. Before I can formulate the best way to say what I need to, the words just tumble out of my mouth. “I couldn’t stand the mix of pity and disgust I knew I’d see in your eyes. In everyone’s eyes.”
Rage and embarrassment rise up the sides of my neck to my face, flushing the skin of my too-pale cheeks.
“I started out as just the charity case, dragged to town by her lonely aunt to fulfill some sort of familial obligation. That probably would have faded in time. But that night, I became Poor Little Stella. The trash bag daughter of a missing on-the-run mother and the sadistic fuckwad who raped her and beat her bloody in a dirty barn eighteen years ago. I mean, that is what happened, right? That is who I am?”
The steel returns to my spine, and I feel like, by giving a voice to all of the pent-up emotions I’ve been refusing to acknowledge, I can finally breathe again.
“Broken Little Stella. Roofied and assaulted in the same fucking dirty barn I was conceived in.” The laugh that erupts from my throat is choppy and harsh, and now I’m practically yelling, my fisted hands dropping to my sides. “Is that supposed to be some kind of cosmic joke? ‘Cause I’m not laughing, and I’m nobody’s fucking punchline.” I practically spit the last words, and my chin raises as I speak my truth with no shame and zero fucks left to give. “So yeah, I had to leave because the thought of you looking at me like I was something weak and small and damaged was too much for me to handle on top of everything else.”
After the last words leave my mouth, pride and desire twine together and flare darkly in Poe’s deep blue eyes, burning out the hurt and anger.
He drops his arms from the doorframe and is across the small space in three long strides. His familiar, strong hands dive into my hair, and he grips the raven strands tightly while he brutally crushes his mouth to mine. He coaxes my lips apart, tangling our tongues. The metal of his piercing immediately reminds me of other places I’ve felt that hard little ball, causing a little electric shiver to run through me.
Feeling my response, Poe slides his hands slowly from my hair, tracing the pads of his fingertips down my arms and over my hips. Not breaking our kiss, he slides his hands under my thighs, grips tightly, and quickly lifts me onto the edge of the sink. Stepping forcefully between my legs, one hand slips into the back pocket of my jeans, and his fingers dig deliciously into my ass cheek. At the same time, the other grasps my wrist and slides our joined hands between us, turning my palm so I can feel how hard he is through his joggers.
Tearing his lips from mine, both of us breathless and panting, he locks eyes with me.
“Don’t you dare think for one fucking second that I pity you or see you as anything other than the beautiful, badass, strong woman you are. Got it?” He removes his hand from my wrist to slowly trace the outline of my lips with his index finger, while I leave my palm exactly where he put it. “If anybody sees you any differently, fuck ‘em. Their heads are obviously up their asses.” He gives me one of those lopsided grins I love so much, and the emotion behind his words shines from the deepest parts of his gorgeous blue eyes.
Like a battery that just needed a boost, his words and his touch are jumper cables to my psyche, flooding me with a rush of color.
Feeling more like myself than I have in weeks, the corners of my mouth turn upwards. Continuing to hold Poe’s heated gaze, my fingertips boldly walk their way up to his waistband and slowly dip beneath it. His hardness slides smoothly along my palm as I wrap my hand around him and start to stroke his length. The groan he tries in vain to stifle only makes me grip him more firmly, and he leans forward to run the tip of his tongue softly along the edge of my earlobe.
“Star, if you don’t stop now, I’m going to rip those holey jeans off and fuck you right here against this sink,” he warns, whispering low next to my ear before nipping the side of my neck gently.
“I thought we agreed no more bathrooms?” Unable to hide my snicker or the liquid warmth pulsing between my legs, I squirm slightly, and his lips dive hungrily for my exposed collarbone.
“Hey, you guys all right back here? Everybody still alive?” Sunday calls loudly as she purposefully stomps her way down the hall toward the restroom, giving us ample warning we’re no longer alone back here. Poe lifts his face to the ceiling with a frustrated sigh, and I pull my hand from the front of his pants just as Sunday pokes her head around the doorframe, one hand over her eyes.
“It’s okay, Sun, we’re decent.” I chuckle. Splitting her fingers into a V, she peeks quickly to verify before removing her hand entirely.
“Not for lack of trying though, I see.” She raises her eyebrows, grinning lasciviously at us. With a groaned drawn-out curse, Poe pulls me down off the edge of the sink and herds me in the direction of the giggling blonde.
“Both of you. Out.” He kisses the top of my head and shoves us out the door, slamming and locking it behind us.
“What do you think he’s gonna do in there?” Sunday whispers loudly, making a stroking motion with her fist. “Shake hands with shorty?” We both burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“I can hear you, you know! Can’t you leave a guy with a raging fucking hard-on in peace for two minutes?” He yells through the door. That just makes us laugh harder, but I drag Sunday out into the main kitchen area where she throws her arms arou
nd me and squeezes tight.
“I missed you, Stell.” Hugging her back just as tightly, I revel in feeling almost like a fully functioning human again.
“I missed me, too, Sun.”
Sally gets the five of us set up in the red vinyl booth with juice, French toast, and the magic coffee that Sunday was begging for earlier.
“For reals, Stella tried to poison me with her version of coffee this morning. She needs lessons, Sally. Stat. Pronto. I’ll pay you to teach her, anything you want!” Laughing, the diner owner waves her desperate plea away and moves to take care of the other customers starting to fill the diner. “Friends don’t let friends drink things that taste that awful!” Sunday yells over our heads to Sally’s retreating back.
Sandwiched cozily between Payne and Sunday, I relish the return of my appetite and plow through my breakfast with enthusiasm while enjoying the sight of the two handsome men across the table from me. There is nothing of Eunice Halliday visible in Poe; he is most definitely his father’s son. They share the same smoldering deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, strong jawline, and the single dimple that appears when they laugh. Or whenever they think it might come in handy.
Those dimples have been many a female’s undoing, I’m sure.
The only real things that set them apart are their height, with Holt having a good two inches on his son’s already impressive six-foot-two frame, and their hair. While Poe’s is still a deep rich espresso, the elder Halliday’s has silvered in the sides and back.
Poe catches me studying them, and in my haste to look like I’m doing anything but that, I grab my juice. Unfortunately, I swallow half of it so awkwardly, it causes me to have a brief but painful coughing fit. He arches an eyebrow and shoots me a devilish grin full of so much naughty promise it sets off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my belly.
Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2) Page 3
